


Aradia

by Millimoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Love, Miscarriage, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6632314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millimoi/pseuds/Millimoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione has always had to work for the things that mattered to her most, the things which she really desired but this is one trial she cannot overcome, no matter how loved and supported she may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The blood was red. More red than she could remember, more red than the blood Bellatrix had spilt six years previous. This blood held more life, more passion:it held love. The thick red liquid dyed the water as it had the cotton. It had looked harsh on the gentle, soft, cotton but as the red congealed with the water- the pure clear water, her thoughts ran through the books she had read in muggle studies. The viability of human life. She knew blood was not living, clumps of rightly named tissue, was not life. Tearing a chunk of toilet paper off the role she mopped her face, feeling her tears stick to her cheeks as though they to did not want to leave her body.

She heard the gentle tap of knuckles on the heavy oak door, saw a pair of bartered trainers with untied laces through the space where the door and floor didn't quite meet.

He didn't hesitate, giving the door a small push inwards. He opened it just enough to slip into the bathroom. She tilted her eyes upwards without moving her head, moving just far enough to see his broad chest. He wore a shirt, he was dressed for the event, the event which had lost all importance in Hermione's mind. The top buttons of his striped shirt were unfastened, soft ginger fuzz escaping and wrapping around the buttons.

She met his eyes; and crumpled.

His eyes, the window into a gentle creature so few truly knew, we're just as broken as he felt. He sighed softly, his voice scraping in his throat.

"Not again."

 

She showered, dressed, put a spell onto her underwear to prevent the bleeding going any further. Ron hadn't known. She had been scared to tell him, scared incase she said too soon. She had the first time, and the second.

Sitting in a light blue strapless dress, tight around her still-achey breasts, she was numb. Four. Four lives, four babies they had made. Each taking months of love making only to end in tragedy. She was twenty four, not old, not damaged in any way. Her mother had two, one before and one after she was born. Monica had never spoken of those she lost, now Hermione knew why.

The pain, the real agonising ache caused by a loss was similar to only one pain she had ever felt, the pain of a dead Harry in the arms of Hagrid. This one was a little lump, a little bundle of tissue that she passed. It was white and cellular; clinical. It was their baby.

It was thirteen weeks and three days, the longest she had ever gone. This time, today, the family get together, their baby was going to be introduced to the family.

Instead she felt her hands cradle an empty and inflamed womb.

Was there something wrong with her? It couldn't be Ron, genetically if his father had sired seven children then surely Ron was capable also. It had to be her. Was it the cruciatus curse? Had the agonising pain worse than pain itself damaged her body for good?  
The blue dress was so tight, her breasts had swollen, her stomach too. They were prepared for a baby that would never come.

She knew why they were there today. Why the family had been called to the burrow, it would have been so perfect. Ginny was in her third month of pregnancy. She was fourteen weeks and, as it was her second, her belly grew faster than it had when she expected James.

Hermione dug her finger nails into her hand, trying to prevent herself from crying or shaking. The anger and the sadness were concocting together. It was just like Harry to have everything go right. He had a professional sportswoman for a wife, a beautiful scruffy-haired son and another on the way.

There would have been four days difference between these cousins. An example of how close the trio were, even their children born within days of each other. The tears spilt as her skin burst and blood spilt from the palm of her hand.

Ginny and Harry were to have their second child. Fleur and Bill had three, Even Percy had little Molly. It wasn't fair! All she had ever wanted Hermione had fought for, her friendships, her husband and now her baby.

It wasn't Ginny's fault though, nor Harry's. It wasn't anyone's fault. Her body just couldn't do it, she was failing for the first time.

"Aradia." Ron's voice was rough, husky and hurt as he crossed the room. He reached for hermione's hand and slipped a piece of soft cloth into it.

She looked at her husband, trying to find an explanation in his eyes but he glanced away. She would later thank him for this moment.

Hermione gently uncovered the warmth from inside the tiny bundle.

Inside the package it lay. The body was red and see through. The beginnings of a heart and brain easily visible through the young skin. It had hands, ears, feet. It had a head and a body. It looked human.

The tears poured like lukewarm rain from her eyes, a drop hitting the little creature, the tiny thing no longer living.

Ron crouched in front of his wife, gently covering the tiny bundle again.

"It's Aradia, I checked- a girl: a witch. Hermione she isn't ours, not this time. She's gone. And," he paused to sniff loudly and roughly brush away tears with the back of his hand, "and it's time to say goodbye."

Hermione nodded, letting Ron take the tiny handful- so small in his large hands.

Hermione felt her heart scream in her chest, felt like her whole body was twisting and contorting on the inside.

Her baby was gone, and just like her brother's before her, Aradia-the littlest witch would remain a part of her mother's soul. The otter lost a kit. The terrier, his pup.

A goal grew only a few floors from them, a healthy, happy foal. And it's life was a song to be faced.

Hermione wiped her face, splashing water over the areas where her make up had ran. She applied it again, with shaking hands as her stomach contracted sharply. She knew she was pale. Again. She would blame a bad night's sleep. Again. And she would carry on, persist, even if the music she faced would crack another part of her heart, another splinter, a wound which could never heal.


	2. Chapter 2

When they pushed through the door into the dinning room the family was already seated- all except Victoire, who came running the moment the door opened. Her light and creamy blonde hair flowing out behind her.   
Victoire thrust her arms and and entangled them around Hermione's waist. The tight squeeze of the little girls hands round her tender abdomen had tears prick the corners of Hermione's eyes.   
"Victoire," Fleur tutted slightly, giving her six year old a state that reminded her of her manners. Victoire shrunk back into her seat just as Molly rose and ushered Hermione and Ron to their seats. Ron held his wife's hand, a rare sight in a public setting, but he refused to let her go; she needed this. Even as they settled on the large bench which ran down the side of the even larger wood table, Ron's hand refused to leave the soft and clammy grasp it was encompassed in   
The table was spread with pretty brown bowls which had a delicate pattern of white flowers on the edges, each bowl was filled with vegetables and potatoes of every kind. In the centre of the table was a shimmering silver platter filled with a very large cooked bird. The bird had no defining features, looking just like a chicken or turkey only much larger, but the skin was browned and to most it would look incredibly appetising. To Hermione, who’s abdomen had begun to cramp up, it looked like a pile of nails.  
Arthur proceeded to place a slice of the nondescript bird meat onto two plates, passing them over to Ron and Hermione. Hermione’s eyes were not on the plate but on her sister-in-law who sat adjacent. Or more, on Ginny’s stomach. As was common- or so she had read- Ginny’s stomach had grown faster than it had during her first pregnancy, her belly was rounded and protruding gently from the fabric of her dress. Next to Ginny sat Harry, always a comforting sight for the Weasley’s with his floppy dark hair and usual smile. In his lap was a very small child, wearing a handkerchief style bib and no shoes. This was James Sirius. Her Nephew. Normally the sight of her little nephew, who was the image of both his Father and Grandfather alike, would have filled Hermione with the delight that a young and smiling child gave to most people but not today.  
Next to Harry sat Fleur, followed by six-year-old Victoire, four-year-old Dominique and two-year-old Lois before their father Bill on the Far side. On their own side of the table Ron and Hermione were followed by Percy and Audrey and their little girl Molly then George with a small Fred on his lap and his wife. At either end of the long wooden table sat Molly and Arthur; the proud grandparents.  
“So, Ginny, how is the morning sickness?” Fleur asked, unknowingly throwing a dagger at Hermione’s heart. Only two weeks previously she had been faking a sickness bug.  
Hermione had planned to surprise her husband at the meal, she had planned on announcing her pregnancy that day, on telling the whole family. She was passed the worst stage, the stage where most witch- and muggle- pregnancies would fail. She had even given it an extra few days, just to be sure. It hadn’t been enough, Aradia was gone.  
“Oh, it hasn’t been too bad this time- James was awful but this time I’ve barely been feeling it at all. Harry reckons it’s a girl.”  
“Oh I wouldn’t say so Ginny,” Arthur interrupted, making everyone turn their heads comically to his end of the long table, “Your Mother had six boys and none of them made her ill.”  
“You however,” Molly interrupted and turned all the heads to the other end, “I was sick as a gargoyle, when I expected you.”  
Ron, absorbing the conversation gave his wife a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, asking her a silent question. Had she felt like that, very ill in the few weeks she had carried their tiny daughter? It set Hermione’s mind back. Back to as little as three days after the embryo had caught, when she had felt more ill than she had since the flu in fourth year, or the chicken pox when she was ten. She gave a tiny nod, trying not to look at Ron as she could feel the tears beginning to form in her eyes. She knew if she looked at him, she would lose control and the lump in her throat would dissolve and flow out of her eyes.  
“But enough about us, Hermione has some news,” Ginny looked straight into Hermione’s eyes, hinting that it was time for her to take up the conversation. She could tell that Ginny thought she already knew what the story was. She had told Ginny when she had missed her Period. Ginny wasn’t stupid, she had put two and two together and realised what Hermione’s news must be.  
That was enough for Hermione, the lump dissolved as fast as if it were dissolved by acid and water poured from her eyes, onto her cheeks and continued to run down to her chin. Ron instantly pulled his wife into him, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. She took in a deep breath of his smell, his unique Ron-scent, one part Weasley, one part magic blood, and felt Ron take a similar breath.  
Ron licked his dry lips, before biting his bottom lip and taking a deep breath. Hermione felt his chest rise under her hands and closed her eyes, knowing what would happen now.  
“We did have some news,” Ron began, but paused for a second, squeezing Hermione’s hand tightly before he continued, with a frog in his throat. “but Hermione miscarried this morning.”  
The room fell silent around the couple- even the youngest of the children seemed to realise something wasn't right and remained quiet.   
"Hermione, I'm so sorry-," the words came in Harry's voice but she couldn't bare to lift her head, to look at him. Her tears were seeping into the light materiel of Ron's shirt, she could feel the jagged edges of chest hair crumpling beneath her through the silky fabric.   
There came a whistle from the other side of the table, followed by Arthur's voice,   
"Goodness, I'm really sorry- it's never happened in our family before."   
Never. The word cut into her, carving into her skin like a blade before plunging into her heart.   
Molly Weasley had never lost a baby, not even really early?   
Then it hit, like a bolt of lightning or a backfired spell. Was he saying that it was her fault? That she was the reason their baby had passed away. Maybe there was something wrong with her, maybe she was broken inside, whether it was the curse or simply her genetic's, maybe she couldn't carry a baby inside her.   
The rebounded spell began to boil inside her, fizzing and cracking as misplaced spells would. She felt herself cracking, spitting like a snapped wand and before she could stop herself her head was up from Ron's chest and she was yelling at Arthur.   
"So I'm useless? Maybe I can't carry another grandchild for you. Perhaps I'm not the broken one, perhaps Ron is, he chose me after all!"   
Then, like a startled rabbit Hermione was on her feet and away, her feet not even flattening to the ground before they lifted and took another step. She didn't know where she was going, just that she had to go, to get away from there, from the words, the apologies, the accusations; the feelings.   
She found herself outside, barely aware of how she got there but she kept going, running through the gaps in the sporadic maze of corn which surrounded the burrows. She tripped over a rock in the soil and fell, crouching in on herself and landing in a hunched heap. Here the leaking tap her eyes had become was turned on, she could feel the water racing down her cheeks and dripping off her jaw onto her neck.   
If her family couldn't understand this pain, this frustration then who would? There was too much to pile it all onto Ron, he had tried so hard to understand and support whilst also dealing with his own grief.  
Before Ron it had always been Harry, she had told him everything she couldn't tell anyone else. Now though? Now Harry had a second child on the way, he had his own worries- trying to make ends meet after Ginny had resigned from professional Quidditch, bringing up James, being around for his godson, just generally being Harry Potter was more than enough! There was no one else, her Mum wouldn't understand. As much as Monica was supportive of her daughter's witch-hood, she didn't really understand the magical world, or truly understand what her daughter had gone through in her last school years. Mrs Weasley, she adored Hermione - and always had but she didn't know the emotional tole of holding your tiny child in your arms and knowing they were already gone.   
No, in this, for the first time since she received her letter, she felt alone.


	3. Chapter 3

(A/N) hello long time no writing but an awful review or two of cursed child (leaving me very wary of the plays story) has inspired me to pick this up again. It's a short chapter but please remember I still enjoy encouragement :) thank you 

The footsteps through the growing corn were obvious behind her but Hermione didn't turn. It would be Ron, trying his best to comfort her- she didn't need that right now.  
"Ron, I-."  
"It's me." The response was not as she had expected because it didn't come from Ron, it came instead in Harry's voice.   
Hermione found her head turning instantly to face him.   
Harry stood, looking to her as he always had, with his floppy and dark crowd of hair and his rounded glasses. Of course long ago had he been able to buy a new pair of glasses, or be able to change his glasses into a more fashionable shape. He didn't; and that was part of what made him Harry.   
He lowered to a crouch, matching Hermione in height and coming closer to her.   
Slowly, as though he was approaching Buckbeak for the first time once again, Harry skunked closer to her, his arm extended and eventually he pulled Hermione in against his shoulder, holding her tightly.   
Hermione felt her muscles relax beneath his big hands, hands which may have grown over the years but which held the same comfort they always had. She knew she was in a place where she was safe; where she was home. 

2006   
This little thing, so delicate and pretty and unlike any other in the whole world- magic or muggle- was the most amazing thing she had ever set eyes upon. More amazing than her first dragon, or being sorted a Gryffindor, or entering platform nine and three quarters.   
The pain was worth the beauty, worth the perfection. She had dewy lips and a fuzz of red hair; she had ten fingers and ten toes; she had perfectly manicured nails; long eyelashes; a heart beat.   
Hermione moved, white hot pain seaping through her abdomen like a new hack with the scalpel. Her  
Mind screamed that she should flop back onto the pillows but she needed a fresh look, a look at her tiny living thing, the tiny thing she had created.   
In the back of her mind though, there was something buzzing- a thought she was trying to push back into her mind, an anxious thought, a terrified thought but a thought none the less.   
'Shouldn't she feel more love'


	4. the clinic

"Ron you look fine, stop fussing." Hermione heard herself moan at her husband. He was trying to sort his tie which hung around his neck in a limp knot.   
"They don't care what you look like," she continued to fuss, going back over to Ron and fixing his tie for him all the while hiding a slight smile.   
Ron nodded curtly to himself before stepping forward in time with Hermione and heading for the door of the small fertility clinic.   
It had been after doing some research that Hermione had picked this clinic. There were very lenient and open minded and so she thought they might manage to cope with a pure-blood wizard.   
Ron may have been in the muggle-heavy part of London many times now but he still felt out of place and flustered whenever he had to cope with muggle interactions. Especially money.   
This clinic however- and much to the relief of Ron- was run by the NHS. The clinic tested for a multitude of fertility problems and having had more than three miscarriages Hermione's own doctor had referred her and Ron for further tests.   
Ron, despite having been given information about the process, was very nervous. He had never been in a muggle doctor's- off course he couldn't have because most medical ailments could be solved by magic in the wizarding world. But magic wasn't hermione's first language, she wanted science to explain things that magic could treat.   
The clinic- a family planning clinic- as they liked to call them, was in a very old building, a building so old and low to the ground it seemed to be ashamed at its use. In the days when this building was new sex was certainly never talked about.   
As they walked in through the typical sliding automatic doors the inside of the clinic was modern and pristine white.   
The whole room appeared to be based on a pastel palette and reminded Hermione of old medical dramas on tv. There were two distinct colours, white for the ceiling, walls and floors and each piece of furniture, a dark pastel green which could only be described as 'scrub coloured'.   
Of course Hermione had tried her best to prepare her husband for the general visit she had never thought about explaining common British behaviour. Ron had headed straight to the chairs before being steered in the proper direction of the front desk. He frowned, confused but thankfully knew better than to say anything.   
As they turned to the seats she pulled him a little closer and hissed in his ear,  
"They don't know if you've arrived unless they see your letter, then your computer file pops up and they send it through to the doctor."   
Ron nodded, going straight for a leaflet on contraception before Hermione slapped his hand away.   
"That stuff prevents pregnancy," she blushed slightly and her husband looked sheepish.   
There were so many things he didn't know in this world, which was why Hermione tended to stay away but this was one thing, one thing she felt a muggle doctor could help better.   
It seemed like only second passed while Hermione passed a paper tissue between her hands and Ron fiddled with the keys in his pocket.   
"Her, ugh, Hermonee Weasley?"   
Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling to herself as she stood up. Sometimes she felt like her parents had subconsciously known their daughter was a witch- her name was more pronounceable to magic folk than muggles.  
The doctor that walked out to greet them however was a shockingly familiar face.   
Lisa Cooks had been a family friend of the Granger family for many, many years. In fact her father and Lisa had stayed in the same student accommodation building during university. Lisa- now a specialist in family planning- had actually overseen the conception of Hermione herself.   
Although Hermione had been conceived naturally it had taken her parents over two years to fall pregnant. She feared that the problems would come down her mother's side and have passed on to herself. There was only one way to find out.   
Ron had stood to attention the moment hermione's name was called, he looked somewhat surprised to see the doctor was not wearing a white lab coat but in fact a pale shirt and cropped trousers.   
"Hermione," Dr Cooks smiled, offering her hand to be shaken. Which Hermione did happily.   
"And you must be Ron?" She continued offering her hand to Ron. He paused for a moment before shaking it, still feeling a little uncomfortable in this odd place.   
"Well then, I'm going to have to examine you Hermione, so would you like your husband with you, or not?"   
"He's better here," Hermione replied instantly- Ron didn't need any further confusion added to the day and she was sure the doctor's room would be a lot for him to take in.   
Ron nodded, before reaching into his pocket and handing Hermione a battered envelope containing a small tube. "Ugh, you'll be needing this then," he mumbled, while his face grew slowly pink.   
Hermione offered him a slight smile before handing the sample bottle over to Dr Cooks.   
The doctor took a step closer to Ron, asking him softly if the correct measures had been used- had his hands been clean, that he hadn't used any lubricants. All the while Ron got pinker and pinker.   
"I'll have this looked over by one of our lab techs while I speak to your wife Mr Weasley, and once we are ready we will have a chat all together."   
With that Hermione was led down the white hallway and through a door into Dr Cooks office. She was quickly asked the usual questions, were her Periods regular, were they having sex regularly. Her blood pressure was normal and her blood was taken in order to send to the lab also.   
Hermione's breath had caught when Lisa went searching for a vein, she prayed that her left arm could remain hidden. Hermione's parents knew nothing of her torture and she'd prefer not to try and explain the malformed layers of skin on her right arm. Magic had covered a large amount of the scarring however she had kept that word. Mudblood. As a reminder of the oppression those like her- and including her- had faced under the years of terror.   
Finally, 'Just to be thorough' Dr Cooks asked for Hermione to pull back her top and let her feel her stomach.   
"How was Australia?" She asked.   
It took Hermione a minute to remember she had supposedly been abroad for three years, rather than fighting Lord Voldemort.   
"Very, different." She said eventually but the expression on Dr Cook's face had changed.   
She moved her hands down on Hermione's stomach, pressing lightly between the bones of her hips. 

 

"Ready?" Hermione asked her nervous husband as she walked back into the waiting room.   
"Bloody hell, that took longer than expected- what have you got in your hand?"   
Hermione quickly stuffed the leaflet back into her handbag. This wasn't the time to say it. But Ron had other ideas.   
"Hermione, what's up?" He went to stroke the side of her face as he often did but she pulled away, desperate to get out of the surgery. She could feel tears starting to well up in her eyes. She felt sick, slightly dizzy too.   
She quickly took Ron by the hand and dragged him against his will from the building. She kept pulling her startled husband, getting him half way across the car park before his sense got the better of him. He pulled back against her grip and Hermione burst into tears.   
"I'm so scared," she sniffed, allowing Ron to pull her against his soft chest.   
"What's wrong? Is it bad news?"   
Hermione shook her head, looked up at her husband and gave a false smile.   
"Ronald, I'm pregnant," before she lost control of her legs and slumped against him, unconscious.


	5. It continues

Hermione awoke on her own bed, lying right in the middle of the quilt Mrs Weasley had made them in her usual Autumn colours. Turning her head to the right of the small double bed she spotted her husband looking back at her. Ron's expression was blank until she met his eyes. He smiled softly, raising the back of his hand to stroke his knuckles across her forehead.   
"Hey" he whispered- a word which had become an ongoing joke since the days of the Horcrux hunt.   
"How did we...?" Hermione began, but her husband interrupted before she could finish,  
"I just disapperated, hoped that since you couldn't really think of going somewhere else that we'd be safe."   
Hermione nodded briefly. Her expression flat.   
Ron looked serious, worried about her fainting, but on the other hand there was a twinkle in his eye, a look of excitement, of joy.   
Then Hermione remembered. A baby, another baby inside her body. Her hand went of its own accord to her stomach, Ron grinned.   
She loved it when he did that, it reminded her of the little boy she had found such a challenge, and of the young man she had slowly fallen in love with.   
Hermione snatched her own hand back to its side and got up, leaving the bed quickly so her head once again spun and for a second she thought she was going to collapse once more.   
"It'll only happen again Ronald, we need to face the facts!"   
She heard herself snap before she realised the words had left her mouth at all and automatically turned to apologise, but she was left instead with a door allowed to bang in her face. 

She was in the bath when he returned. Her head under the water, her eyes closed. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling it soft and free in the low gravity water. The water was cold, stone cold and she was aware her lips would be turning blue. She didn't care. She needed to forget, to stop thinking about it altogether. In a few weeks she would undoubtedly bleed again- as she had every month until her Mum insisted on putting her on the pill at sixteen- even though Hermione had insisted magic was more efficient. She felt herself smile as she thought about the reality, that she had never tried a contraceptive spell, from the time her and Ron first spent the night she had known that carrying his baby would have made her so happy.   
She tried to push the thought back down, tried to forget the whole thing- forget her very first pregnancy, forget her very first miscarriage. The emotions were too hard, too strong and she dug her nails into her palms to stop tears from streaming from her eyes and into the icy bath water.   
She could feel the water starting to suffocate her, her airways closing off, her brain screaming for air.   
Reluctantly she lifted her head from the water, her skin slowly breaking the surface and her hair starting to drag behind her rather than float in line with her face.   
Her eyes opened and she saw Ron's face staring down at her; she blinked.   
"Bloody hell Hermione!" Ron's words tumbled out on top of each other, "you were lying there and you were still and I know your upset and I thought. Jesus!"   
He stopped, his eyes searching her face for some trace of emotion. There was very little.   
"Look, I know this is hard for you but, you know, think of me sometimes yeah?"   
Hermione shot upright, the water streaming of her body.   
"Think of you? Your not the one who has to deal with the pain, the blood, the tiny bodies!"   
Hermione reached over the edge of the bath, groping for her towel. She needed away.   
"So you think I don't have the N pain? Think I'm inadequate?- all my brothers have kids! Ginny has kids!"   
"Oh of course," Hermione growled, finally reaching her towel and lifting herself from the tub. She slipped slightly and Ron went to grab her, his hands wrapping around her waist before she slapped him away.   
"Oh for the love of God Hermione! You're pregnant! I'm not letting you hurt my baby out of spite!"   
Hermione snatched herself from her husbands grasp, pulling her towel around her and tucking the corner in atop her breasts. She stalked into the bedroom.   
Ron followed suit lunging forward and grabbing his wife's left wrist.   
He exposed the white scratches and groves on her arm, the words that were scored into her arm eight years ago.   
Hermione flinched. Ron let go.   
He breathed out deeply.   
"Look," he began, crouching down and taking Hermione's hands in his.   
"I, I'm not worried about never having a baby, not really. Yes it would be hard- not just to watch Harry and Ginny have the perfect family but to see it hurt you." He stopped, looking at the floor and shaking his head once.   
"This is it, I promise. If it doesn't work this time then we stop trying. We have each other. I love you Hermione Granger, and I always will."   
Their eyes met; a brief silence. Hermione nodded, starting off slowly but getting faster till eventually she locked eyes with Ron once more.   
"You mean that?" She challenged, her voice strong but unsure.   
He nodded once in reply.   
"Definitely, your happiness-your health- is more important." He hesitantly lifted his hand, carefully cupping her cheek and giving her a gentle, watery, smile. 

She lay awake in bed, her arms across her chest -which was only loosely covered by one of Ron's old quidditch jumpers. Her breasts were tender, very tender, and her head hurt. She should've taken something, got out of bed but she was inprisoned between a thick forearm of Ron's and his fuzzy ginger chest. She reached up, running her hands over his arms, down his chest. Back when they had first slept together he still has defined chest muscles from his quidditch days, those were mostly gone now. If anything he'd got fatter.   
Her hands reached his belly, he snorted in his sleep causing Hermione to pause before continuing to stroke a finger down the trail of ginger hairs leading from his belly button.   
He snuffled again, his pyjama trousers rustling as he wriggled, irritated.   
She withdrew her hand. She knew what she had to do. It felt wrong, felt cruel to do it behind his back. If he didn't know, it couldn't hurt him she thought. If he didn't know then it would seem natural, seem like there has always been a little problem.   
As much as she hated to do it she had to put herself first, had to think about the pain she could prevent.   
She reached around Ron's arm to the bedside table and grabbed her wand.   
"Nepotentia vitum."


	6. Chapter six

Hermione stood in the shower looking at herself. Ron came home today-safe, thank god- from a small skirmish between muggles and giants over seas. He had been away for nearly six weeks. He hadn't seen her changes.   
Hermione looked down at her belly, running her hands across the bulge beginning to grow. It was getting larger by the day, she could see it through her clothes now, but she still wouldn't allow herself to recognise these changes as leading to a baby. She was aware the some knew, Mrs Weasley had came around yesterday and her hands had went instantly to Hermione's stomach, mapping her out. She had been delighted- though concerned that Hermione hadn't announced her pregnancy. She looked slightly offended when Hermione announced she would be twenty weeks pregnant on Tuesday.   
No one else knew, she wasn't ready to tell the rest. She didn't believe it was real yet- even as she watched her belly swell up. Her hair was falling out in clumps, her breasts were sore and she'd been throwing up for weeks on end.   
She was definitely very pregnant. And yet she couldn't quite believe it. It was still an endless frustration- and endless worry- that her and Ron could easily make a baby but her body was unable to carry one.   
With a sigh she turned off the shower, careful not to slip in the bottom of the bath tub, and reached for her towel. The red towels had been part of their wedding present from Harry and Ginny- the towels were quick-dry and had a trim of Gryffindor gold around the edge.   
As she dried herself a dilemma hit. Ginny would be coming around, Harry was returning with Ron. She felt her stomach lurch and had to dash back to the bathroom, struggling not to throw up on the bathroom floor.   
Luckily she reached the toilet in time and retched several times, but only brought up water. She hadn't eaten yet.   
She couldn't risk it, letting the family know, letting them see her stomach begin to grow; let them get hopeful.   
Ginny was her closest friend- well, female friend but Ron didn't really count as a friend given she'd married him- and she hated to lie to her but, it was strange, even though she was only a few weeks behind Ginny in her pregnancy she was jealous of her friend. Watching Ginny become bigger and appear to glow made Hermione feel oddly left out. 

The Potters arrived shortly after Hermione had dressed. She was sitting at the kitchen table wearing a flowing top she hoped would distort her bump, and eating her way through a bowl of muesli- hoping this would stay in her stomach.   
Hermione was listening for a car door to signal their arrival- totally forgetting that Ginny's favourite and easiest mode of transport was broom, James in his Mai tai sling strapped to her back.   
It was James who ended up announcing his family, he came straight through the door of the little Surrey cottage still wearing his ski mask that had been adapted as flying goggles.   
" Annie Amimee!" He called, tottering across the tiled kitchen floor and throwing himself at Hermione's legs, urging her to lift him.   
Ginny came in just as she lifted him up, removing her leather jacket which had no chance of hiding her own belly.   
"Look at you!" Hermione gasped, automatically putting on a front for her friend.   
Ginny smiled, giving her stomach an affectionate pat.   
"He's certainly growing," she smiled  
"He?"   
Ginny nodded,   
"We should've known the girls were a fluke- the grandkids will be boy heavy too,"   
Hermione nodded, her mind briefly crossing to the theory about penis size and the gender of the resulting children but quickly stopped, she may have seen Harry half-naked but she didn't want to think about his manhood thank you very much!   
At that moment the elderly Crookshanks came waddling down the crooked staircase. The arthritis in his back legs was affecting him quite badly now but Hermione dared not take him to either a magic or muggle vet- like her, her cat belonged in a mixture of the two worlds.   
James began wriggling in Hermione's arms, desperate to play with Crookshanks. She set him down and Crookshanks wandered through to the living room, giving his mistress a wink as the tot followed him.   
Ginny sat down on the bench on the other side of their large oak table. She sighed and looked worried.   
"Hermione, I'm not stupid, why didn't you tell me."   
Hermione bit her lip, looking away, of course Ginny could see, she was very aware that her best friend was expecting.   
Ginny clapped her hands to her mouth,   
"Oh God," she gasped, before quickly composing herself with a deep breath.   
"I know I'm his sister Hermione, but I'm still your friend, you could've told me- I'd help you sort out this mess.   
"Mess?" Hermione asked, now totally confused.   
Ginny took a deep breath just as Hermione heard their little Ford Fiesta drive up the track.   
"I know, your trying to hide it; it's not Ron's baby."   
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to defend herself. She couldn't believe what Ginny was saying, of course she hadn't, she wouldn't- who would she have slept with.   
"Look, I know you and Ron have been having issues on the bedroom front, he always had issues- heard the boys talking about it before- but Hermione, if it was a muggle, and you have a muggle child..,"   
"No, Ginny, I would never, I haven't."  
The door burst open, Harry came wandering in wearing his work robes, Ginny spun around, Quincy rushing to Harry, kissing him gently.   
Hermione grabbed Ron's old quidditch jumper off the bench beside her and shoved it over her head- praying it masked her stomach, this wasn't the time, not when Ginny thought-.   
Her thoughts were interrupted. Ron stood in the doorway. He smiled his goofy smile, his freckles lighting up his face and his glorious gingery hair flipping down in front of his eyes.   
"Oi!" He called, holding his arms out wide,   
"Where's my completely-over-the-top-and-embarrass-my-sibling snog?"   
Hermione laughed loudly in total joy, God she'd missed him, missed him so much. She grinned and grinned, unable to pull the smile from her face. She stood and dashed quickly over to her husband.   
Ron grabbed her by the waist lifting her to his height before kissing her. It felt amazing, warm and comforting and right- so right, just like their very first kiss. He was all sloppy and out of control of his lips, full of hunger and she matched him, duelling him point for point until Harry cleared his throat.   
"Ugh," he began, shuffling uncomfortably.   
Ron rolled his eyes,   
"At least I'm not snogging your little sister."   
Harry laughed, sheepishly before turning back to his wife and asking about his son.   
"I'll go get him," Ginny announced, " I think we should let these two have a chat."   
The boys both looked confused but they quickly said their goodbyes as Ginny went to grab her two year old- the little boy's legs spread wide over his mother's belly.   
Once the front door had closed behind the Potters. The Granger-Weasley family stood in silence. Ron faced Hermione looking scared for a moment. Then he saw it.   
"Bloody hell," he grinned, "I- you- we're, we're having a baby."   
He smiled uncontrollably, lunging forward and scooping his wife into his arms bridal style before dashing to the living room and collapsing into the old sofa, Hermione squealing in his arms.   
"Ron! Ron put me down!" She giggled.   
He let his body plummet into the cushions of the sofa before pealing back the jumper and silky top covering his wife's stomach.   
As he stared down at her his smile vanished. For a second Hermione felt sick. Then he reached out a rough, shaking hand, running it gently over her smooth but definitely round stomach.  
"We did it," he whispered,  
"We did," Hermione agreed, "I have no idea how, but we did."

This was the first time ever she had been glad to hear the bed creak beneath her body. Ron was kissing her, his lips soft as they worked their way across her stomach then  
He pulled himself back up her body, she naturally tilted her head, allowing him to suck and nibble on her collar bone.   
His hands were running feverishly up and down her sides, between the crook of her waist and her hips- occasionally over her belly. She could feel him growing harder and thicker through his pyjama bottoms. He needed her.   
Their eyes met. She nodded and he groaned deep in his throat before fumbling with his pyjamas. She heard him kick the tartan trousers off his ankle and them crumple on the floor before he very gently spread her legs apart.   
The both moaned in unison.   
"You're sure?" He whispered, his voice filled with need.   
She nodded, adrenaline fuelling every bit of her body. She ran her hands down, grabbing him with one so he hissed and jerked his hips forward into her tight grasp.   
"Jesus Hermione!" He gasped as she gently pushed forward, sliding him inside her.   
She bit her lip against the slight discomfort as he pushed himself further in.   
They groaned again, he gripped her hips, she pushed her legs up, hooking her thighs across his hips, giving his backside a brief push; an encouragement.  
He didn't need any further encouragement, began thrusting quickly in and out of her body.   
She closed her eyes, relaxing back onto the pillow, letting the feelings of her own muscles squeezing consume her.   
In that moment she was content. In that moment she didn't care if this pregnancy was viable- she had Ron, she loved him, that was all that mattered.   
She felt him release, the rush of warmth and he collapsed carefully onto her chest, slipping from her body and burying his head in her breasts.   
He gasped for breath for a moment and she held him, her arms wrapped over his sweaty back.   
This was bliss.   
" Hermione Jean Granger, you are utterly amazing," he gasped. She kissed the top of his red hair.   
"I love you Ronald."   
"I love you," he whispered, before lifting himself off her to wriggle downwards. He kissed her bump.  
"And I love you too


	7. Next

Ron!" Hermione giggled, "I'm going to be late!" Ron was wrapping his arms around his wife, dragging her back down onto the bed.   
"But I'm on holiday!" He groaned, jokingly, wearing only a grin.   
"Ron, I need to go to work," Hermione tried to be firm but she couldn't help a smile from creeping onto her face.   
Again she tried to button her blouse, hoping this one-a fourteen rather than a twelve- would button shut.   
Ron appeared to have arrived home just in time for her belly to explode outwards. She had grown so much over the long June weekend that everything was becoming outgrown. There were stretch marks clawed across her body like purple tears, or thick veins, or the stripes on a tiger.   
"I want you here, I've got a lot more shagging to catch up on," he grinned, ducking the smack which was aimed for the back of his head.   
Hermione stood slowly from the bed, aware her head would spin if she did it too quickly. She pulled on a pair of black leggings, then draped her deep plum coloured robes over her shoulders where they hung to the floor.   
She stepped into a matching pair of sensibly high heals and grabbed a brush from the bedside table. Ron shuffled into his tartan pyjamas and stood from his side of the bed.   
Hermione raked the brush through her hair, a horrendous scraping sound following each stroke. Hermione paused to look at the brush, sighed and began to brush again.   
"What's wrong?" Ron asked with a mouthful of Hermione's morning digestive.   
"Oi!" She replied, snatching it off him, "that's meant to stop me feeling sick!" Ron shrugged,   
"What's wrong is my hair is still falling out." She grumbled.   
"Wait, I think I've skipped something here, why is your hair falling out?" Ron finished his mouthful of biscuit.   
"Because of the hormones going through my body due to the baby, I read about it,"   
"There's a surprise," Ron teased, narrowly dodging another slap.   
Hermione quickly grabbed the car keys from Ron's side of the bed, gave him a quick but thorough kiss, and headed down the stairs. 

She was slightly late to the office, having had to stop to throw up her digestive biscuits, and felt slightly agitated when she finally reached the door to her office. To add to her annoyance, the office labelled head of magical law enforcement was already open. She was preparing to shout at the person who had helped themselves to her office when she caught sight of the mass of messy black hair and the round glasses joined by a very distinguishable lightening bolt scar.   
"Harry!" She smiled, dashing over to where he sat on the corner of her desk.   
"So it's true?" He grinned, eyeing her stomach. Hermione nodded- surprised he had even seen her stomach but unlike the unobservant boy Harry had been, the young man Harry couldn't take his eyes off her belly.   
"Hermione," he began and she knew she was going to hear something she didn't want to.   
"You do know twins run in the Weasley family?"   
Hermione laughed, allowing her hand to fall onto her large stomach, giving it an affectionate pat.   
"But!" He started again, "the minister wants to see you- as soon as you arrived he said."   
Hermione nodded, confused, she hasn't a clue what the minister would want her for- possibly to discuss her maternity leave, and Ron's paternity leave.   
"Hermione," Harry added, as she turned to leave the room again.   
"I'm really happy for you-you and Ron, about the baby."  
"Thanks." She smiled, turning to leave the room.   
"Close your door on the way out!"   
Huh, Hermione thought, who did he think he was shouting orders in her office.   
As she walked along the corridors to the lift she couldn't help but think, the ministry had changed so much in the past few years. She remembered the muggles-normal people like her parents- stuck in living stone in the middle of the large hall.   
So much has changed, and she had helped those changes. Her  
Promotion a few years ago had been more than she had ever imagined she would achieve working for the ministry- especially given the way that muggle-Borns such as herself had been treated no better than the Nazi's had the Jews. She had helped reach a goal from her fourth year at Hogwarts, a goal to help house elves find equality, accept employment rather than slavery. She had helped the recognition of Giants as people also, that those half-bloods like Hagrid and Olympe Maxime were not 'bad' and 'born evil' as some would have them believe.   
She thought back to the day she had been promoted. She had thought Harry had phoned ahead, told Ron, because when she got home there had been a romantic, candlelit dinner waiting for her. It had turned out to be one of the best days of her life. Once they had finished eating, Ron- who had eaten very little for him- settled at her side on one knee and proposed. She had thought the dinner was to do with the promotion when in fact Ron had known nothing about his wife becoming the head of magical law enforcement.  
She smiled at the memory, becoming second in command to the minister- reaching that level of responsibility- it had never happened to someone who happened to be a muggle-born and a girl.   
After the war the ministry had been entrusted into the hands of Kingsley Shacklebolt although he held the position only two years. He handed his mantle to an old head of magical law enforcement, to a man who had been a member of the order towards the end of their fight against Voldemort. This was Hans Popplewell.   
Hans was an old man, in his four hundreds at least, but he was clear headed and confident. He was positive and had strong beliefs that the wizarding world could survive the wars, could stay hidden from the muggles and remain happy.   
Hermione liked the old man, he was exactly what they needed.   
Hermione opened the latch on the front of the minister's office door. The small latch about head height contained a small eye ball, one which was all-seeing. It reminded him of Mad-eye Moody, her defence against the dark arts teacher from so long ago. The brown eye, which looked almost rubber it was so fantastical, swirled in a circle, it's Iris deflating and inflating in size like a camera lens trying to focus.   
The eye looked straight into Hermione's own pair. It let out a sort of chirp sound and then a click sounded and the door opened slowly.   
Where the door was plain Hermione had expected the innards to be something similar to Dumbledore's office. She had been waiting for a Tardis-like room full of the extraordinary and fanciful, wonderful objects and spectacular specimens of nature.   
She was very disappointed.   
The office was so like the one her mother had in her childhood house that it was uncanny.   
There was several bookcases lining the whole of one wall, a large plain window on the back wall and in the very back corner between the bookshelves and the window, sat a small desk and two chairs.   
The desk was so plain and ordinary it could have come from ikea, the chairs were those large comfy type you see in doctors' surgeries.   
On the desk was a mass of papers and parchments, a tray of quills made from feathers ranging from wren to macaw to bald eagle.   
There was no sign-other than the quills- that this office belonged to a wizard. There was barely any sign it belonged to anyone at all and he had used so little of an enormous room it seemed as though the room was scaring him.   
The wizard himself, Mr Popplewell, was nothing like his room. He had a long beard which was greying and looked more like dirty cobwebs than hair, it was tied into three long plats which fell to around his waist. He almost reminded her of a Viking until she took in his clothes.   
He wore a set of dress robes in a putrid, bile-coloured, green. They were too long so bunched at the wrists and the draping sleeves were dyed the colour of carrot soup.   
He did wear a warming smile.   
"Come in Mrs Weasley, it is Weasley isn't it?"   
"Actually sir, it's Ms. Granger, I kept my name when I married."   
He smiled nodding softly,   
"I see. I also see you are expecting a baby," he paused before continuing more hesitantly,   
"When are you expecting its arrival?"   
Hermione presumed he was trying to make conversation, but surely if he was wanting to speak to her about her maternity leave then he should have known these answers.   
"Not for another four months minister, forgive me, but do you not already know that from my maternity paperwork."   
He chuckled,   
"No, I'm afraid it's no longer my job to grant you that leave. You see Hermione-may I call you Hermione?"   
She nodded, sitting in the chair indicated to her.   
"I'm an old man Hermione, I am nearing five hundred and I believe it is time to retire. We need a new minister."   
"But sir, you fought with us against Voldemort in both wars. You have the knowledge of dark magic, the strength of magical ability, you are exactly what we need."   
The minister nodded, seeming slightly pre-occupied as he searched in a drawer on his desk.   
"I agree Hermione, our country needs someone who knows the people, who is compassionate, clever; brave. The ministry needs a strong leader."   
He withdrew an ancient wooden box, a box so old its hinges appeared to be made of bone or antler. The lid was opened and he drew out a leather wand holster. From inside it he pulled the wand. It was made of yew, carved with ancient Celtic symbols, symbols of the pagan world where all British magicians had originated.   
The wand was something that-naturally- Hermione had read about. It was made from a branch of the oldest know tree, so old and so sacred to ancient pagans that the muggle population knew nothing of its existence.   
The wand had been handed from minister to minister since the organisation began. It was powerful, known to pick the ministers personally. It would never function for a minister it hadn't picked.   
When the ministry was taken from Fudge it was thought the wand had gone with him, thought it was destroyed as it would never have accepted the dark wizards who took power.   
Hermione was delighted to see the wand, thrilled that this ancient tradition had managed to survive the second war.   
Then it made sense.   
He was holding out the wand; holding it out to her.


End file.
